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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887725">Touch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaelumLapis/pseuds/CaelumLapis'>CaelumLapis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Smallville</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:55:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaelumLapis/pseuds/CaelumLapis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain fell then against the glass of the windows, soft at first, and then with a steady patter that was music of its own, a relentless rhythm changed only by wind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Lex Luthor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer is, I don’t own them, not even a little.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="has-text-align-justify">Wind tapped against stained glass windows, and pale gray afternoon light filtered through them, casting shadows and dimming the vibrancy of leather, red felt, and golden-orange fire to pallid, ashy variations of themselves. It was almost the touch of a lover, soft and gentle at first, and then rutted and zealous, rattling the glass and whipping ivy that moved with the whispers of a conspirator against the glass and stone that anchored it. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Inside the room, fire cracked and burned within the fireplace, sending waves of subtle warmth into the damp chill around it. Long, pale fingers wrapped around a china coffee cup, the heat from its contained liquid seeping through the porous surface of the cup, slowly warming the cold fingers and their palm. The sharp, vaguely spiced flavor of the coffee burned gently as it went down, the afterburn of mingled liquor pouring heat into unfeeling limbs, bringing them back to life with the tingling sensation of pins and needles.</p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">The crisp linen of a dark blue dress shirt was crumpled at its collar and cuffs, unbuttoned to the warmth of the fire that battled back the chill of the coming rain. Shoulders pressed against enveloping leather, a massive chair perched regally in the basking glow of the fireplace. It cradled a smooth, wiry body in its embrace, forming to the angles, contours, and limbs that rested against it. The smooth, vaguely slippery feel of the leather slid against a pale, hairless scalp, and its caress felt somewhat strange and yet oddly familiar, simultaneously. Ghostly sensations brushed over that sensitive skin, body memories of ruddy curls that had once sheltered it, now faint and soft, easily dismissed as a momentary chill. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Reddish-gold lashes rested with a feather light touch against the delicate skin at the tops of cheekbones, eyes closed against the cold, and the wan colors of rain. Slow, even breaths of air flitted into nostrils with a gentle touch against their sensitive skin, then rushed easily into lungs that sucked up the oxygen, pushing out the carbon dioxide. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Rain fell then against the glass of the windows, soft at first, and then with a steady patter that was music of its own, a relentless rhythm changed only by wind. Rumbling thunder echoed outside, a mellow growling sound that blossomed to a roar before fading away. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Toes moved slightly inside the silky-smooth wool of socks, the fabric pulling and releasing against the strain. Beside the ottoman, leather shoes lay discarded, resting heel to toe against each other at odd angles where they had fallen. Firelight bathed the curvature of their shapes in mixed colors, muted and vibrant, then muted again.  The orange glow cast soft shadows over the surface of black pants, legs crossing one over the other, the rub and rustle of fabric brushing against skin in the warmth of the fire. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Another sip of acidic coffee, and a pink tongue slipped out to wash away the traces of it that remained, retreating back beyond a lip scarred at the arc beneath the nose, past teeth that closed softly with a faint sound in the silent room, muffled by the rain against the windows. The cup rested against an end table’s surface, a light thump of porcelain against wood, fragile against solid, light against dark. Hands moved to fold their fingertips together over a stomach clad in blue, rumpled linen pulling into wrinkles around them. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">A deep sigh, exhaled past teeth and lips, hands rising and falling softly, shoulders moving subtly against leather, these sharp lines softening into relaxation. A mind always focused in so many different directions and thoughts slowly coalesced into single concentration, immersion in the senses without sight. The feel of fire’s warmth, the lingering flavor of coffee, mingled with subtle hints of spice and the rich burn of alcohol, the soft scent of the newly cleansed air drifting through a partially opened window, fresh and touched with crisp green notes from the ivy, the sounds of rain beating a soft tempo on the glass. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">The sense that he was perfectly alone was somehow broken then, a subtle shift in the room, the vague idea that someone was watching his repose. A pale, narrow eyebrow quirked slowly, but otherwise he remained still and silent. Moments like these meant to be lived in fully, without regard to who observed them. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Soft footsteps beside him, and heavy warmth descended into his lap, broad palms rubbing against the fabric of his shoulders, warming them slowly, and a smile followed it, the eyebrow smoothing. His chin tilted up by the fingers, and lips pressed softly against his own, damp and clean from the rain, and he tastes them, nipping slowly at them, his tongue flitting gently over them with languid ease. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">The sound of breath that is not his, soft and damp against his face, the warm weight of a body covering his, knees against his hips, legs flanking his thighs, a chest against his own, arms beside his shoulders, hands against the sensitive skin of his scalp, fingertips touching there, softly and with a strange reverence. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Lips moving against his, saying something and he doesn’t want them to speak now, so he kisses it away, his tongue tasting beyond lips, teasing against another tongue, soft texture that catches and pulls against his own. A contented sigh that is not his and his hands tangle into silky damp hair, curling through and around his fingers. His fingers move to caress the contours of a face that he knows from sense memory alone, and he can see it in his mind as he touches it. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Fingers fumble from his scalp, and he can hear the buttons down his chest give way beneath them, a quiet slide and pop as each button releases, and cool air flows against his chest before warm hands rub over it, leaving behind tingling lines of dazzling color. He moves up against the chest, his lips tangling and sliding into the kiss, teeth brushing tongues wet, heated, and teasing. This has color too, vibrant and hungry. Breathing battles with rain, and his shirt falls from his shoulders, and so much bare skin presses against the worn cotton of a t-shirt, gentle friction against it, body heat soaking through. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">A moment away, the heat and weight gone from him, a protesting creak from the chair, fumbled sounds and the faint whoosh of fabric overhead. When it returns, the chest is bare and he winds his arms around it, fingers marveling at the rippled surface they skim. His lips, wet and flushed and chilled suddenly in absence, ignited again when the kiss resumes, fierce and slow, heated and gentle. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Hands move down his chest again, fingers pushing into his skin, tugging at it as they pass, brushing against places that explode like fire behind his eyes, rich with heady sensation.  Sounds catch in his throat as lips press against it, soft and gentle, teeth capturing and biting, marking him. Silky hair falls over his chin, curled ends brushing against his lips, and he tastes it, wet and softly abrasive on his tongue. The sharp scent of lemon and ascetic traces of sandalwood and gentle rain mingle with the scent of the vivacious creature in his lap, too old to be a boy and still too young to be a man. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Fingers grab at his belt, and teeth capture his skin just below his chin at the side of his throat.  His head moves to the side with an exhaled whimper, the hair pulling away from his lips to tickle against his throat and chin. Muffled sounds at his waist, the effortless slither of leather against metal, a clinking thud as his belt falls to the floor. Panted exhalations against his throat, kisses wet and soft, sliding down the center of his chest. The quiet pop of a button, the metallic grind of a zipper, the stroke of fingers sliding fabric down his hips. The resistance of it snapping nerves to attention already painfully aware, the cold rush of air against velvety skin rigid and slick. A sound escapes him, low and rough, guttural and demanding. It mingles with the scent of lust, sweaty and thick with expectation. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Fingers press into his hips, gripping tightly, his back arching into the leather of the chair, anticipating. His hands drift downward; fingers catching in silky curls that tumble down to brush against the surface of his stomach with subtle, teasing caresses that tickle vaguely. His teeth pull his lower lip into his mouth and hold it there, the distraction a dull ache at the base of his spine. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">A soft, throaty laugh, and the air it expels flows over the head of his cock, and his fingers fist into the curls and pull hard as slick, wet, subtle texture tastes him and rouses tension its wake. Hs eyelids are dark red and glowing faintly, he tastes iron and a strong, coppery-metallic scent as his mouth opens to gasp for air. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Fingers tighten around him, the slide of a thumb brushing against the underside of his cock, and sultry heat envelops him. The sound he makes is thoughtless and low, loud as thunder to his ears. He’s taut and panting desperately, quaking against the onslaught of an inferno provoked by that teasing tongue. A faint thrumming buzz fills his ears, the dull throb of his heartbeat pulsing in time with it. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Unbidden images fill his mind, the way those lips curve when he smiles, shy, soft, and utterly decadent, swollen, flushed, and dark when he climaxes. The wine-colored stain on his cheeks, down his throat, and over his chest lingers long after the delightfully filthy things he blurts out when his need overrides his homespun manners. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">A low, tuneless hum jerks him back, mental images shattering to a sudden flare of white-heat behind his eyes as the subtle vibrations sizzle up his spine and his hips arch up. Pressure from fingers tethers him, too much and not enough, <em>never </em>enough, uneven, jarring, and maddening. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">The hand releases his hip, fingers groping up his stomach and chest, pawing at his lips, tugging them open and sliding into his mouth, salty and sweet against his tongue. He swirls his tongue against them, the sensation mimicked against his cock, his nerves coil and tighten, his mouth falling slack with jagged, breathy moans. </p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">Fingers tighten around fistfuls of silken curls, hips thrusting upward against a mouth that fits hot, tight, and wet around his cock as if made for it, that swallows him down as he shudders with pent-up energy, his body shivering and short-circuiting, the tension unbearable and then blinding with a roar of blood through his ears and his heartbeat pounding in his chest.</p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">He slumps into the chair, breathing fast and heavy, and opens an eye slowly. A very debauched farmboy is sprawled lazily in his lap, licking his lips slowly with a grin that looks far too smug, slinking slowly up his body to nuzzle against his throat, and he commands his arms to wearily encircle his broad back.</p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">“Hi,” he murmurs softly, and Lex can feel the goofy grin against his skin.</p>
<p class="has-text-align-justify">He closes his eyes contentedly and smirks, silky hair knotting beneath his fingertips as he combs them gently over it. He breathes his answer, enjoying Clark’s warmth while it encircles him. “Hi.”</p>
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